


old and older

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Family Feels, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff, Gen, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Pre-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: Lyna is determined to find out her grandpa's nameday.
Relationships: Lyna & G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch
Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906210
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	old and older

**Author's Note:**

> FFXIVWrite Day 7: Nonagenarian

The Crystal Exarch does not celebrate his own nameday. The people of the Crystarium have asked after him, pestering him for details, stories, the barest clues as to when they could count his age as having changed, but he never answers truthfully. Decades have passed between when his attempt as a safe little village blossomed into a  _ town,  _ ramshackle homes turning to stone and wrought iron buildings, and he should not be looking so young. 

Mystel do not live past sixty, or so it was before the Flood. Now, most folk don’t live past forty if they’ve been fortunate. The Crystal Exarch had been pushing seventy since before he adopted Lyna. By the time she’s hit her eighth, he is nearly a certifiable fossil (or so the children say, but they apply that label to anyone over the age of twenty). 

She asks him every month, “When’s your nameday, grandpa?”

He always smiles and says she doesn’t need to worry over it. He does so enjoy celebrating hers more than his own. 

“That’s no good,” she replies more often than not, and spends the next bell pestering him with as much stubbornness as she can muster before something distracts her. 

Each year, she becomes more and more obstinate, demanding he  _ choose  _ a date if he’s too old to remember. When he fails to give her an acceptable reply─“Lyna, I have no need to celebrate my nameday when the happiness of the people of the Crystarium is a gift I never cease to receive.”─she decides that  _ she  _ will do it for him. He could be all sparkly and sentimental with a proper cake… which she has no idea how to make. 

She paces and hops about, ears too big on top of her head, and takes off toward the Mean with intent to ask for some help. Whatever she doesn’t know yet, adults would. 

“On an adventure, miss Lyna?” one of their many trainee Culinarians calls, hauling sacks of flour. 

“On a quest,” she cries, vaulting over bushes and bounding toward her goal, “to get grandpa a cake!”

They laugh and wish her luck, reminding her to be careful on the steps if she intends to take them two at a time. She listens well enough, but her feet are not so cooperative. She manages to avoid skinning her knees, but her palms sting instead. It’s a small price to pay for cake, she tells herself, and there is much to be done. 

She visits with the bakers and breadmongers in their stalls, asking if any of them perhaps have a cake they could part with so she can make the Exarch have a nameday celebration the way he does for her. Most are kind but unhelpful, needing the coin from every sale to support their livelihood, but some are willing to give her bits and bobs with which to assemble her own. She gets a round layer of vanilla sponge from one, a loaf of chocolate and kururu cream sweetbread from another, and a pot of whipped honey from the last. She looks at her supplies and asks, “Where can I get candles?”

“How many do you need?” one of the shopkeeps ask. 

She thinks and counts out on her fingers how many years have passed since the Crystarium was founded. She gives up long before ninety and holds her hands out as if to show the size of an acceptable portion. Her arms are nearly akimbo when she says, “A lot.”

“How about you start with ten?”

“But grandpa is  _ oooooooooold,”  _ she argues, imitating his walk with his staff (which is really a cane, now that she thinks about it). “He needs a lot more than ten!”

“Do you want any cake left under there when you’re done decorating?”

“Yes!”

“Then I suggest not trying to match his age quite yet.”

She frowns, put out. “Okaaaaaaay.”

Her trip back into the Tower is slower than her search. She holds her borrowed basket carefully, stepping with care as to not drop or jostle her nameday cake materials, and stops right outside the Ocular doors to assemble her surprise. 

The loaf goes on the bottom and she slathers the honey between the top of that and the sponge as if it were a substitute for glue. Each element is added with utmost care, layered and coated enthusiastically as she places all of the candles in a very uneven circle on the top. She looks at it appraisingly before adding a couple more dollops of whipped honey on the top to make a smile. 

“There! Done!” she cheers and wipes her hands off on her shirt. She picks up the basket and knocks on the tall double doors, rocking on the balls of her feet while she waits. 

The Exarch, her grandfather and unexpected savior, greets her with a confused and indulgent smile, asking, “What have you got there, Lyna?”

She presents the basket as if it were a treasure from one of his many adventuring stories, bowing and holding it aloft. “A gift for his, uh… oldliness? Is that a word? It’s your nameday! Celebrate with me!”

He laughs, patting her on the head and accepting her offering with a mock bow of his own. “It is not my nameday, but I do agree that we should celebrate a holiday together.”

“You never  _ told  _ me your nameday, so  _ I,  _ being the great granddaughter that I am, decided for you!”

“Oh,” he says, quiet in that odd way that Lyna never understands, “thank you. Should we light the candles?”

She nods vigorously, explaining each and every part of her masterpiece. 

“Each candle stands for a decade because you’re older than the Crystarium and everyone says it’s been around for a  _ century  _ and─”

“I’m only ninety-seven.”

She gasps, staring at him like he’s grown a pair of Viis ears in place of his Mystel ones. “Oh, grandpa… we need more candles than I thought.” 

**Author's Note:**

> lyna is a good kid ;w;
> 
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


End file.
